


How Bad Is It?

by Byrcca



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Dialogue only stories, Full-on P/T, Gen, Pre-P/T
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-19 19:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16540745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byrcca/pseuds/Byrcca
Summary: ...it was so bad...  A series of dialogue-only one shots that roughly start and end with the same line. I originally conceived this as an exercise when I couldn’t get my act together for Fictober.





	1. Tom & B’Elanna (& Neelix)

Sometime after Investigations

With thanks and apologies to CaptAcorn...

 

“How bad is it?”

“On a scale of one to…?”

“On a scale of French roast to Paris Delight.”

“Well, it won’t make you fall onto the deck gasping, but it just might make your tongue fall out.”

“Funny.”

“Yeah, well, that never gets old. Drink enough of Neelix’s coffee substitute, you won’t either.”

“Seriously, Tom, you can joke about that?”

“C’mon, B’Elanna, if I couldn’t laugh I might start to cry.”

“It hasn’t been that bad…”

“Really? We’re sucked to the ass-end of the galaxy, I’m framed for murder, we’re held hostage by insane organ-stealing aliens right out of a nightmare. What they did to you…”

“The Doctor fixed me.”

“I know… Then there was that telepathic alien who conjured a vision of my father to yell at me.”

“You got off easy compared to mine.”

“Well, that’s cryptic, care to share?”

“Not in this lifetime, Paris.”

“Homicidal sentient kidnapping robots.”

“Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Anytime.”

“Oh, we can’t forget the lizard thing!”

“The amphibian thing.”

“Really? I thought you turned into a lizard.”

“It’s a common mistake. Lizards are reptiles. They have tough, scaley skin, while amphibians have moist, glandular skin.”

“Oh.”

“Aside from the skin, there’s the lack of back legs and the external gills on the side of my head so, really, it’s more accurate to say that I turned into a salamander.”

“I’m so glad the Doctor fixed you.”

“Me too. What else? Ah, being kidnapped by Seska and the Kazon. Being smacked around by Seska and the Kazon. The Kazon in general.”

“Oh! Alternate Universe Harry.”

“We’re talking about me, here.”

“Of course we are.”

“Hey! That’s my disgusting coffee substitute, get your own!”

“I just wanted a taste, so I know what’s coming. I can’t make an informed decision without knowing all the facts. Didn’t you ever learn to share?”

“As a matter of fact, I share plenty on this ship.”

“Oh really?” 

“My piloting prowess. My holodeck programming genius.”

“Don’t forget your charm.”

“My charm. My disarming wit.”

“Stunning good looks.”

“Really?”

“I’m shocked everytime I look at you.”

“You are a cruel woman, Torres.”

“You should see me without my morning coffee.”

“Get cranky, do you?”

“Maybe. You should ask my staff.”

“They’re probably too terrified of you to tell me the truth.”

“Terrified?”

“Fiercely loyal to their chief engineer?”

“That’s better.”

“No, I think terrified fits the bill.”

“I’m not that bad. I just tell it like it is, that’s all.”

“So, chief, how’s the coffee substitute?”

“Awful, actually.”

“Agreed. But it’s not as bad as his leola root stew.”

“Leola root soufflé. Leola root purée.”

“It makes a good gin, though.”

“What?”

“What?”

“I knew it! I knew Carey had a still somewhere!”

“I’m not sure it’s Carey.”

“Hmmh. His angla’bosque.”

“Feragoit goulash.”

“Ugghhh…”

“Paris Delight…”

“So what’s this one?”

“Undaunted Delta.”

“Seriously? Someone needs to take away his thesaurus.”

“Or his coffee pot.”

“We’ll add it to his list of sins.”


	2. Kathryn Janeway & B’Elanna Torres

Sometime in s6...

 

“Okay, give me the bad news. How bad is it? …hello?”

“ _Everybody knows that the dice are loaded_  
_Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed_ ”

“Lieutenant Torres?”

“ _Everybody knows hmmm hmm mmm mm_ ”

*clink*

“Damnit. _That's how it goes_ Ugh! Go in! _With ribbons and bows, everybody knows_ ”

“B’Elanna, is that you?”

“ _Everybody knows that the boat is leaking_  
_Everybody knows that the captain lied_  
_Everybody got this broken feeling_  
_Like …_ I said, go in. _... something some thing just died_ ”

“Hmmm…”

“ _Everybody wants a box of chocolates_  
_And a long-stem rose_  
_Everybody knows._ ”

“You can keep the flowers, but I hope you’ll share the chocolate.”

“Captain! I… I didn’t… umm…”

“I did call you, but you didn’t hear me. You have a lovely voice, B’Elanna. I didn’t know you sang.”

“I don’t. I mean. Not in public... It's private.”

“Surely Tom knows? Chakotay?”

“I’ve never… No one knows.”

“Rather ironic, considering your choice of song. I always thought everybody knew everything on this ship, but I never got wind of this.”

“Captain, I’d appreciate it if you—”

“It’s all right, I’ll keep your secret. I’m just a little unclear on why you don’t want anyone to know. You really do have a beautiful voice, B’Elanna, you should share it.”

“Oh, sure, can you picture me serenading the warp core?”

“Well, no, but maybe if you _whistle a happy tune_ at the power transfer relay it’ll get repaired faster. What’s your status?”

“Another couple of hours at least. I need to switch out the burned out isolinear chips and there’s about fifty meters of cable that needs to be pulled, then I have to check the connectors and do a balance flow check. The last thing I want is a power spike that blows it out again”

“That’s quite a list. Could you use a hand?”

“Captain, surely you have other things to do…?”

“Probably. But the stack of reports can wait. I enjoy rolling up my sleeves and getting my hands dirty.”

“Well, if dirty hands is what you want, all of those gelpacks need to be replaced, so have at it.”

“...do you believe the words in that song?”

“What? Which ones?”

“ _Everybody knows the captain lied._ Is that how everyone feels? That I’ve lied you?”

“I…no! It’s just the lyrics. I like the pacing, the breath. The melody. That’s why, well.”

“Ah. And where did you hear it?”

“Where do you think?”

“Of course. Pardon me but it seems a little slow and introspective for the Tom Paris I know.”

“Well, he… He made me listen to his silly rock and roll—”

“It didn’t sound very rock and roll to me.”

“I guess it’s not. You know how one thing can lead to another thing, which leads to something else and before you know it you’re way off from where you started?”

“Sort of like with the power transfer relay?”

“Ha, sort of. Well, Tom made me listen to what he calls _surfer music_ by a band called the Beach Bums.”

“Sounds like him.”

“Actually, if I can ever get him to go to a beach he’s more interested in surfing or water skiing than lying on a towel on the sand.”

“Doesn’t know what he’s missing. So this is by the Beach Bums?”

“No. Then he told the computer to play Dan and somebody, Jan and somebody? and someone named Elvis, who had a much better voice.”

“You didn’t like the Beach Bums?”

“I thought they were a little flat and off key. But Elvis was alright. And one of his other songs is this beautiful, well, it’s not a hymn exactly but I thought my grandmother would probably love it. But Elvis didn’t write it, Cohen did, and he also wrote the song that you caught me singing.”

“Convoluted but fascinating. Someone named Cohen wrote a hymn?”

“Actually, quite a few of his songs have religious imagery.”

“Hmmm… Sometimes I think we’ll get home on a wing and a prayer. I wasn’t aware you were interested in religion, B’Elanna. I’m learning all sorts of things about you.”

“Well, I’m not, really. My grandmother was a devoted Catholic. She taught me my saints, some of them anyway. And bible stories.”

“And what did your mother think of that?”

“She thought it was foolish superstition. Klingons have a mythos, with stories, legends, but I wouldn’t really call it a religion. There are traditions, but they fall pretty short of ritual.”

“Intriguing.”

“Not when you’re a teenager.”

“I suppose not.”

“Still, I probably should have listened a little better, to both of them. _There is a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in._ It’s another Cohen lyric.”

“Wise words. There certainly seems to be a _crack_ in the power distribution relay. Sometimes I wish there was a _crack_ in subspace that would lead us back to Earth.”

“If I’m being completely honest, Captain, there is a song that reminds me of you.”

“Well now you have to tell me.”

“It’s… it’s called _Joan of Arc_.”

“...You think I’d sacrifice myself on a pyre!?”

“You might, yes. I certainly wouldn’t rule it out if you thought it would guarantee we get home. But that’s not really what the song’s about.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“It’s more of a love story between Joan and the fire.”

“Intriguing.”

“Or I could be reading too much into it. Poetry’s not really my thing.”

“If I remember my high school Literature classes, you’re likely not reading _enough_ into it. I’d make a pretty poor saint, B’Elanna. Hand me that hyperspanner.”

“But you do seem to carry more of the burden than you should, Captain.”

“We can add it to my list of sins.”


	3. Kathryn Janeway & Chakotay

Sometime during s6...

 

“How bad is it?”

“We’ve lost propulsion and internal sensors. Shields are at forty-three percent. The aft starboard phaser array took a direct hit. The main power relay on deck six was severed; that’ll take at least a day to repair. The EPS manifold on deck eleven took a hit, too. Turbolifts are out from deck three down, and decks five through ten have no life support.”

“Tell me the bad news.”

“Since sickbay is out of reach, the mess hall is our triage area so Neelix can’t cook. We’re on rations.”

“Just when you think it can’t get worse.”

“You prefer leola root stew, Kathryn?”

“I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee right now.”

“Better to not, we only have seven working bathrooms for the entire crew.”

“Ha! Owww…”

“Careful, you took quite a knock to the head when you hit the deck. Your head is hard, but not that hard.”

“I probably would have fared better if my skull was soft and malleable.”

“Maybe.”

“B’Elanna!”

“She’s fine. The engineering station on the bridge is a little worse for wear, though.” 

“How many?”

“Three: Lang, Chapman and Lessing.”

“Noah Lessing?”

“Yes.”

“Damn. I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky it was only three this time.”

“That we know of. As I said, decks fi—”

“Five through ten are cut off. Yes.”

“It gets worse.”

“You might as well tell me, Chakotay.”

“Naomi Wildman was hurt. Badly. Tom has done all he can, but without the doctor…”

“How is Samantha?”

“How do you think she is? Whoa, slow down, you’re supposed to resting.”

“And Naomi is supposed to be growing up with sunshine and green grass that’s not holographic. And with her father’s arms around her. I need to see to my crew, Chakotay, not lounge on my couch.”

“...all right. Easy. Here, let me help you.”

“Weapons will be our main priority. If they show up again, we’re going to hit them first and hit them hard!”

“Kathryn…”

“I want transporters working, and a secure area. If we get the chance, we’re going to beam as many of them as we can onto the ship. We need information from them. I need to know how to combat their weapons.”

“We’ve been down this path before.”

“And you obviously remember my feelings then. What makes you think they’ve changed now?”

“I’d hoped…”

“I can’t get my crew home on hope, Chakotay. We need our ship in one piece. _I_ need to know how their torpedoes are getting through our shields.”

“And what if they won’t tell you?”

“They will.”

“By any means necessary?”

“If I have to.”

“Kathryn…”

“We don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

“Then we’ll add this to my list of sins.”


	4. Tom Paris & Harry Kim

Set directly before Distant Origin. 

 

“Don't push me, Tom.”

“I am not pushing you, I'm encouraging you.”

~ Displaced. 

***

 

“How bad is it this time?”

“What makes you think there’s an _it_?”

“Oh, I dunno, Tom. The crazy look in your eyes, the sound of your teeth grinding together. You know, when you frown like that, you almost have your own Klingon forehead ridges.”

“She … makes me crazy!”

“Really? I’d never have guessed. You look so calm and contained.”

“Hmmmph.”

“What was this one about?”

“Would it kill her, honestly, actually kill her, would she fall down _dead_ if she admitted that there are _some_ aspects of Klingon culture that are interesting?!”

“Ohhh, here we go.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Tom, you know how she feels about that. Why do have to push her so hard?”

“I am not _pushing_ her. I’m giving her a little forceful encouragement, that’s all.”

“Annnd that’s not pushing, how?”

“When I’m gently encouraging she says no. Sometimes you _need_ to push her a little, Harry, for her own good.”

“Oh, please.”

“What?”

“You know the fastest way to get her to dig her heels in is to push her about something.”

“So what do you suggest I do?”

“Forget about it?”

“For—! She has this rich, fascinating heritage that she just ignores!”

“I’m sure the Torres’ have an impressive family history, too. Didn’t she once say her grandmother was Catholic? You could brush up on your saints. Or, you could learn the Flamenco.”

“I don’t… What?”

“Well, if you’re going to force B’Elanna to embrace her heritage, you want to explore both sides, right?”

“I never thought about it that way.”

“Uh, huh.”

“I know she likes burritos… What? Why are you rolling your eyes at me?”

“It’s always food with you, isn’t it?”

“No. Sometimes it’s Klingon martial arts programmes. I wanna try a bat’leth.”

“So, make a bet. You know she can’t resist a challenge like that.”

“See? Klingon! What do you think we should bet on?”

“Well, obviously, something she’s familiar with. Some engineering thing. So she thinks she’ll win.” 

“Hah, so, how does she not win?”

“You fix it so you know the outcome before you bet.”

“And how do I do that?”

“I dunno. Make it something about the anodyne relays, maybe, they’re always shorting out.”

“You want me to sabotage the ship to win a bet?!”

“I didn’t say you should sabotage the ship.”

“But you think I should trick her into it? Cheat?”

“Sometimes you have to game the bet to win. And you do want to win, right?”

“Harry, I never knew you were so devious.”

“I didn’t used to be. Then I met you.”

“You’re saying I corrupted you?”

“You’re saying you didn’t?”

“I am a standup guy, Harry. Maybe you're the one doing the corrupting here.”

“We can add it to my list of sins…”


	5. Tom and B’Elanna & Harry

Sometime in s6…

 

“How bad is it?”

“You haven’t looked?”

“I’m not that brave. So…?”

“Well…”

“C’mon, Harry, give it to me straight.”

“Well, that curl that bugged you so much is gone now, that’s for sure.”

“Hey, what are you—whoa…”

“B’Elanna.”

“Umm…mmmrrph! Was there an accident on the bridge that I didn’t hear about?”

“Nice. Thanks.”

“Or were you flying a prop plane on the holodeck with the safeties off and get your head caught in the propeller?”

“Ha. Ha.”

“Did you piss off Chell and this was his revenge?”

“Never let an enraged Bolian cut your hair, Starfleet.”

“Words to live by, Maquis.”

“Are you two done?”

“Probably not.”

“C’mon, what happened? Was Chell trying something new?”

“He was busy. I asked Sam.”

“Sam did that?!”

“Well, no.”

“Okay, I’m confused.”

“Naomi wanted to try.”

“Naomi is four years old.”

“Yeah, but she’s as big as an eight-year-old.”

“And you thought it was a good idea to give an eight-year-old a pair of scissors and allow her free reign on your head?”

“I learned how to fly a shuttle when I was eight. Besides, I figured it would grow back in a few weeks.”

“More like months.”

“Or I could always shave it all off and start again.”

“Not much left there to shave.”

“Seriously, what were you thinking?”

“She said please. She was so excited. She begged me. I didn’t have the heart to say no.”

“Do you always give in when a woman says please?” 

“Usually.”

“I’ll have to remember that.”

“And that’s my cue to leave, before I start to beg you two to stop.”

“Bye, Harry.”

“Can I touch it? I want to rub it. It’s so spiky.” 

“Come back to my quarters, you can rub anything you want.”

“I have to warn you, begging’s not really my style.”

“I like it better when you demand, anyway.”

Three hours later…

“And all this time I thought you liked my hair longer.”

“I do. But I like how bristly it is now. Prickly.”

“You like me when I’m bristly?”

“Yeah.”

“I like you when you’re _prickly_.”

“Hmmrph! You’re really not upset?”

“Not really.”

“It’ll be quicker to style in the morning. And the one bit on the side is almost long enough to braid. You could make quite the fashion statement.”

“You first.”

“...maybe.”

“B’Elanna, please don’t cut your hair!”

“Ha! Well, if I ever did, I wouldn’t let a child do it. That was sweet of you, though.” 

“Ugh. Sweet.”

“We’ve had this discussion before, Tom; there’s nothing wrong with being sweet.”

“I’m sweet on you…”

“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself. Skilled pilot, good friend, conscientious boss. You’re reliable in a crisis.”

“Ugh.”

“And sweet to little girls.”

“Sounds boring. Like I’m trying for sainthood.”

“Ha! Not likely. Wanna be _sweet_ to a big girl…?”

“Now that’s more like it. We’ll add it to my list of sins.”


	6. B’Elanna, the Doctor, and Tom

About a week after Revulsion…

 

“So, what’s going on?”

“I’m afraid, that you have cystitis.”

“I have a cyst? Is it bad? Is that why it burns when I…”

“No to the first and second, yes to the third, though I understand your confusion.”

“Well, I’m still confused.”

“You have an infection of the bladder, Lieutenant, causing inflammation to the bladder and the urethra. That’s where the pain comes from when urinating.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ve never heard… Klingons don’t usually get infections.”

“Yes, your Klingon constitution does seem to keep you robustly healthy. But it couldn’t save you from this. In fact, I suspect it, well, it may be the _root cause_ of your troubles.”

“Why are you smiling? What do you mean?”

“Cystitis can be caused by a few things, but I suspect yours is from bacteria being pushed into the bladder through the urethra. Unchecked, the infection can travel up the ureters to the kidneys.”

“Bacteria?”

“Yes, B’Elanna, we’re all covered with the stuff. Well, not me, of course, but all of you. Good bacteria, bad bacteria, whole microbial civilizations that rise and fall, living within you and on you.”

“Fascinating.”

“It is, really.” 

“So. I… How did … ?”

“I’m glad you asked. As I said, cystitis can be caused by several things, most of which I’ve ruled out. I suspect yours is what is colloquially known as honeymoon cystitis.”

“Honey… Doctor, it may have escaped your notice but I’m not married.”

“You don’t have to be married to contract honeymoon cystitis, B’Elanna. You just need to be engaging in rather frequent _robust_ sexual activity.”

“I… wha…”

“As I stated, exterior bacteria, in your case _Escherichia coli_ , has been pushed into the urethra and travelled to—”

“I heard you the first time!”

“Well, there’s no need to get upset, Lieutenant. I’m just imparting information; I didn’t cause your condition. If you want to be upset with someone, turn your ire to Mister Paris. I assume that he’s been your partner in these…workouts.”

“I told you before, Doctor, that I don’t appreciate you speculating about my personal life!”

“Oh, no speculation is required. I may not be an active participant in the ship’s gossip mill, but I am programmed to process auditory clues. Not to mention visual. Unless you’re telling me that Mister Paris isn’t your only partner?”

“...”

“Well there’s no need to glare at me like that, I was asking a valid question.”

“Just fix it.”

“I already have; that’s what that hypospray was.”

“Good.”

“Just a moment, B’Elanna, there are a few things we need to go over. I want you to drink lots of water over the next few days to flush out your kidneys and bladder. And no caffeine or alcohol, though that last isn’t a worry, synthohol won’t aggravate your system.”

“You’re doing a good job of that all on your own, Doctor.”

“Charming as always. You may find a warm compress helps with the discomfort, or a soak in a hot bath, though there is some controversy about whether sitting in a pool of dirty water is the best way to keep the area, well, clean.”

“Can I go now?”

“Not yet. I also want you to refrain from most forms of sexual behaviour for the next three days. If you can manage it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you’re the one who brought up your Klingon genes.”

“Oh! You—”

“I’ve also had to treat complaints of fatigue, headache, and localized muscle ache from many of your neighbours. Brought on by lack of rest, I might add. I wonder why they’re suddenly having trouble sleeping, hmm?”

“Am I done here?”

“Almost. I want to see you back in three days so I can reevaluate you. And tell me immediately if the burning sensation persists. And when I do give you the go ahead to resume your _funtime_ with Mister Paris, I want you to empty your bladder before and immediately after coitus to control the growth of bacteria.”

“Kind of kills the mood, doesn’t it?”

“There’s nothing stopping you from cuddling after your trip to the toilet.”

“You don’t have to tell Tom, do you? I mean, I know he’s your new nurse but my records are private, aren’t they?”

“Well of course I have to tell Tom, he needs to keep abreast of all patient illnesses. Plus, I need to examine him. What part of _urethra_ and _bacteria_ and _sexual activity_ did you not understand? There’s nothing shameful about your condition, B’Elanna, if anything it’s rather endearing. Believe it or not, I’m happy for both of you that you’ve found each other. It’s rather romantic, actually: two misfits, both with a chip on their shoulder—”

“What?”

“Adversaries from two crews hurtled 70,000 light years from home. That you should find love in the cold, dark, unfriendly expanse of the Delta Quadrant, enemies everywhere you look, danger all around...”

“It sounds like a bad holonovel.”

“Well, truth is stranger than fiction.”

“If there’s nothing else?”

“No, you can go. Just remember, Lieutenant, hydrate!”

* _swish_ *

“Tom!”

“Hey, B’Elanna, what are you doing here? You okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Of course.”

“Something wrong with the Doc?”

“Nothing more than the usual.”

“So, what, no hello kiss?”

“Oh go right ahead, Lieutenants. _That_ type of activity is permitted.”

“What? Wha’d he mean by that?”

“Nothing. Um...well. I’ll see you later.”

“What, no _goodbye_ kiss?”

“Don’t push it, Tom.”

* _swish_ *

“Come here, Mister Paris, I need to examine you before you begin your shift.”

“Examine me?”

“Yes. Any backache, fever?”

“Umm, no.”

“Pain during urination?”

“That’s a little personal, isn’t it?”

“Hop up and let me scan you.”

“Hey, whoa, Doc!”

“Hmm… you seem clear though that’s not surprising. It’s usually women who suffer from this particular malady.”

“What malady? Is it B’Elanna? Is she okay?”

“B’Elanna is fine. You can begin your shift now. By the way, were you planning to see each other this evening?”

“Yeah, that was the plan, why?”

“And how did you intend to amuse yourselves?”

“Well, I thought we might start with dinner and have a quiet night in.”

“Hmmph. Have you considered running a holonovel instead? Perhaps a rousing game of pinochle in the mess hall?”

“Pinochle?”

“You’re going to have to rein yourself in for a few days, Lieutenant. Here, some reading material for you.”

“ _Urinary Tract Infection and Cystitis in Females: Cystitis After Intercourse_. Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Umm, B’Elanna has—”

“Yes.”

“From…”

“Yes.”

“Is this going to happen every…”

“It shouldn’t. Though it does occasionally happen when women experience an increase in sexual activity after a dormant period. Read the article.”

“Dormant. ...like a Tabran monk.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing. So, we, umm…”

“You, actually”

“Me?”

“Yes. Read the article. Also, here.”

“What’s this?”

“A deck of playing cards.”

“I can see that.”

“Enjoy your evening, Mister Paris.”


	7. Seven and Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one doesn’t follow the rules at all.

“So, the object of the game is to link at least four squares of the same colour. When you do that, the squares disappear from the board and you get a point for each square that’s removed.”

“Like kadis-kot?”

“Sort of.”

“What is the length of the game? How long do I have to complete my objective?”

“I don’t think it’s timed. When you can’t fit any more squares on the board, the game is over.”

“The colours are garish.”

“Well, you can adjust the settings to make them softer.”

“I have already adjusted my ocular implant. What do the points represent?”

“Your skill at the game.”

“When I acquire a predetermined number of points, does the game become more intricate?”

“You mean, are there levels of difficulty? Not that I know of.”

“Can the points be converted to a squares configuration of my choosing?”

“Umm… can you buy a certain colour square? I don’t think so.”

“Then why are points awarded?”

“Bragging rights? The longer you keep the board in play, the more points you earn.”

“......”

“It’s fun, isn’t it?”

“It is pointless.”

“It’s not pointless. You get a point for each square you remove.”

“Was that an attempt at humour, Ensign.”

“Apparently not.”

“It is cheating.”

“It can’t cheat, Seven.”

“It is. If the pink and blue cubes were reversed, I could place them there and acquire thirteen points. It has analyzed my previous placement of the cubes and is producing variables that have the least probability of a favourable outcome.”

“It’s not cheating; it’s completely random.”

“Nothing in the universe is _random_ , Ensign Kim. In fact, most events can be predicted with accuracy. I have been playing this game for one minute, forty-seven seconds, long enough for the programme to analyze my placement preferences. Furthermore, it keeps a constant update on the position of the pieces in the playing area, and extrapolates how each combination from it’s catalogue of variables will best fit within the playing area, then generates a combination that is designed to make my attempts fail.”

“I really don’t think it’s that competitive, Seven.”

“It’s objective is to win, as is mine.”

“I think it actually wants you to keep playing.”

“Without a clear end parameter, or sufficient reward, I do not see how it would accomplish that objective. The programme has frozen.”

“Actually, that’s because you lost.”

“I did not anticipate that outcome. My eidetic memory and Borg enhanced predictive logic protocols should have given me an advantage.”

“Yeah. But you did okay for your first try.”

“Two hundred and eleven points seems insufficient. What is your _high score_ , Ensign?”

“Well, that doesn’t really matter.”

“Your reluctance to answer my question infers that your score is higher than mine.”

“A little. But I’ve had more practise.”

“Did you invent this game?”

“No, actually, it was Tom. It’s based on an old game that people could download to their personal communication devices.”

“I do not understand how you could play this game on a combadge.”

“Umm, no. People carried around portable communicators, like a small padd. It stored information, had a screen so you could view data, look at photos.”

“And play pointless games.”

“And occupy yourself.”

“Their work assignments were insufficient?”

“Sometimes your brain needs something _pointless_ to give it a rest after a long day of work.”

“Here is an example: I have been playing for twenty-two seconds and already the programme has offered a configuration that is opposite to one which would be most condusive to a favourable placement.”

“Maybe you just put the last piece in the wrong place?”

“Impossible. My Borg enhanced knowledge database precludes the possibility that I would make an error.”

“Good night, Seven.”


End file.
